


Tales of Ichorre

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Execution, F/M, Forced Marriage, Fratricide, Incest, M/M, Mpreg, Murder, Par'Lamerverse, Parent/Child Incest, Past Child Abuse, Torture, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:59:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forsaken by the gods many eons ago and cast aside, Ichorre is a twisted land of warring tribes and monsters, unlike the peaceful lands of its neighbor beyond the mountains.  When even the gods have given you up for dead you must take what you can and give absolutely nothing back.</p><p>Prologue - The History of Ichorre<br/>Chapter One - The War Bride</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The History of Ichorre

**The Creation of Ichorre**  
Something I haven't discussed yet in "The Changeling of Par'Lamer"but some of you might be interested nonetheless:  There is more to the world than Pausalis.

  
When the god Druuvan was yet young and wild before he wedded Namye, he tried creating life on his own without any guidance.  The world he wrought in his lonely youth was a land of darkness and violence now called Ichorre.  Instead of having anything noble to offer the new creatures of this land, they were forged from his rebellion and arrogance.  They were creatures of extremes, made of ice and stone and mischief and existed in warring tribes without civility and, therefore, civilization.  Tender Namye looked upon this creation and wept in sorrow for the broken world and Druuvan, moved by her gentleness, also looked upon what he had wrought and was filled with remorse.  He took Namye to wife some time later and the two forged a new land made of light and all the best parts of him.  Watched over carefully by loving mother Namye, this land became Pausalis and its goodly folk were the Elves, Men, Dwarves and Wildekinde.  In their forging of a new land, Ichorre was all but forgotten, its peoples forced to fight, adapt and evolve on their own.

  
**Lands of Ichorre**   
**The Black Wastes** \- (Svartjord/Gronnjord) A volcanic field left over from the last eruption of The Billow before it went dormant.  It is a fertile land, though permanently stained black and littered with sharp obsidian fields.  It was once the most hotly contested land in all of Ichorre for its resources, but the Svartjord and the Gronnjord are the only two tribes strong enough to keep up the fight.  The rest of the tribes have settled and adapted to other regions.  
  
 **The Whithering Sea** \- (Vannjord) Sitting at the edge of The Black Wastes, it is a vast plain of grass which seems to be in a perpetual state lingering on the edge of death.  The poisons left over from the eruption of The Billows have guaranteed it will not grow again without the cleansing fires of the mountain which enlivened the Black Wastes.  
  
 **Great Eastern Fangwood** \- (Smussjord) Located further along the White Teeth and bordering on the Smoking Hives, the trees of the Fangwood have long since petrified.  The whole forest is a twisted, empty thing save for the Smussjord and Vinjord tribes.  Animals fit for hunting do dwell here, but they are monstrous and therefore require a great amount of skill and strength to take down.  
  
 **Lesser Western Fangwood** \- (Vindjord) The tail end of the Fangwood.  The whole forest is a twisted, empty thing save for the Smussjord and Vinjord tribes.  Animals fit for hunting do dwell here, but they are monstrous and therefore require a great amount of skill and strength to take down.  
  
 **Thundering Pass** \- (Brannjord) The massive, roaring river that travels down from the White Teeth.  It carries water from the peaks and is pure enough (for that reason) that it sustains a good deal of life in Ichorre.  It is a treacherous river along most of its length, wild and unpredictable.  The Brannjord tribe lives nomadically along its banks from the White Teeth and down to the Frozen Coast.  
  
 **The Smoking Hives** \- (Blajord) - The least hospitable of all the lands in Ichorre, only one tribe was mad enough and evolved enough to settle there.  They are caves arranged in great honeycombs over the extinct heart of the Billows.  Steam and smoke still pours from the depths at times and the caves are cramped and lightless, the water in the depths acidic and poisonous to all but the Blajord.  
  
 **The Frozen Coast** \- (Rodjord) The coast that rings Ichorre, it is perpetually battered by high winds and rain.  Its borders are dotted by jetties and caves, large chucks of ice washing up frequently on the pebbled beaches.  There are fish and healthy harvests of seaweed which the inhabitants live on.  
Ichorre still exists and has never recovered, still locked in wickedness and bloodshed.  Though it is still within Namye's veil, the White Teeth were erected to separate the lands that no poison from Ichorre could spread to Pausalis.  As it stands now, Ichorre is divided into eight warring tribes:  
  
 **Tribes**  
 **Svartjord** \- One of the two tribes warring for the Black Wastes.  They have been in competition with the Gronnjord for generations.  Pale humanoids born with red scarification closely resembling simplistic Ta Moko tattoos.  Their flesh is incredibly tough to cope with the sharp obsidian fields of their homeland.  Most often have solid black eyes where those of 'noble' blood have coloured irises.  
    Ruler: Jarl (male)  
    Heir: Kar'i the Witch Prince(male)  
  
 **Blajord** \- The tribe holding dominion over the Smoking Hives.  Most monstrous of all tribes, they are small, pale and whithered with mouths full of jagged teeth.  They have six spiderlike arms and are blind, finding food through vibrations in the air of their caves.  Horrible predators in their own home, they cannot leave without being poisoned by the cleaner air and waters of Ichorre beyond their catacombs.    
    Ruler: The Blajord have none and are more of a loosely held-together collective  
  
 **Rodjord** \- The tribe who chose to settle on the Frozen Coast.  Humanoid in stance, they are covered all over with thick, otter-like fur which keeps out the cold and the damp.  They are expert swimmers and fishermen, settling in the caves that dot the edges of the beach.  Behind the Brannjord, they have made the least amount of war in Ichorre amongst the other tribes.  
    Ruler: Asta (female)  
    Heir: Unnr (female)  
  
 **Gronnjord** \- The tribe in major competition with the Svartjord for the Black Wastes.  Pale humanoids born with red scarification resembling simplistic Ta Moko tattoos.  Their flesh is incredibly tough to cope with the sharp obsidian fields of their homeland.  Most often have solid black eyes where those of 'noble' blood have coloured irises.  
    Ruler: Signy (male)  
    Heir: Dagmaer the Inferno/The Lion Prince(male)  
  
 **Vannjord** \- The tribe of the Whithering Sea.  They are massive, powerful warriors  and once very strong contenders for the Black Wastes before they were beaten back under the combined might of Svartjord and Gronnjord.  They have the heads and legs of horses.  
    Ruler: No one ruler.  They have a council of Elders.  
  
 **Smussjord** \- The tribe of the Great Eastern Fangwood.  With little to eat save for the monstrous beasts of the Fangwood, the Smussjord are strongly muscled barbarians with an extra pair of arms and grotesquely elongated fingers to aid in fighting as well as climbing the trees of their home.  
    Ruler: Ansgar (male)  
    Heir: Anzo (male)  
  
 **Vindjord** \- The tribe of the Lesser Western Fangwood.  With little to eat save for the monstrous beasts of the Fangwood, the Smussjord are strongly muscled barbarians with an extra pair of arms and grotesquely elongated fingers to aid in fighting as well as climbing the trees of their home.  
    Ruler: Faramund (male)  
    Heir: Odilia (female)  
  
 **Brannjord** \- The tribe of the Thundering Pass.  The most humanoid of all the people of Ichorre, they were supposedly the last people created before Druuvan forsook Ichorre to wed Vamye.  They are powerfully built warriors, but possess less aggression and mutations compared to their kin.  They are content to travel along the Thundering Pass, hunting and bartering.  Most other tribes leave them be, though the Brannjord, like all others, take care to avoid the Blajord.  
    Ruler: Grimhilt (female)  
    Heir: None yet


	2. The War Bride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tribes of Svartjord and Gronnjord have been locked in war over the fertile Black Wastes since time immemorial, desperate for resources. For years, the Witch Prince held the winning advantage for Svartjord, but after the Lion Prince of Gronnjord mounts a successful raid, the latter decides to take an unwilling prize.
> 
> Warnings for this story:  
> Mentions of Mpreg  
> Mentions of Parent/Child incest  
> Mentions of NonCon  
> Forced Marriage  
> Violence  
> Mentions of Fratricide

Author's note 4/2/14: this chapter is currently undergoing revisions and editing.  Please do read, but check back often for updates!  
Author's note 5/2/14: Took most of the night to write up additions and revise sentences that looked wonky.  We should be done now!

 

Compared to the skirmishes fought in the past between the Svartjord and the Gronnjord, this one had been won with laughable ease.  The people of Svartjord had grown fat and lazy on their success of generations past, made complacent by the knowledge they possessed amongst their ranks the only mage in all of Ichorre.  Their skill in the field had grown weak in this dotage and so it was only a matter of toppling the tower from its rotting foundations when their ferocious wizard had failed to show.  It had been chance.  It had been fate.  It had been a rare opportunity and the Gronnjord had taken it with merciless savagery.  
  
Upon the black plains before the burning village of the Svartjord, Dagmaer ripped his rough-hewn blade from the guts of a fallen enemy.  He was a wildfire, tearing through the panicked ranks of his opponents, not seeing faces, just targets.  They were so near their goal and he couldn't afford a shred of humanity to cloud his way to their destination.  Heads had been cleaved and bodies had been torn in twain, yet while his men celebrated and surged forth like an unstoppable tidal wave, he felt suspicion in his heart.  Never before had the Svartjord been routed so easily.  Surely there was some trap to this.    
  
His ice-blue irises sweeping the carnage of the battlefield, he looked for anything to ease or confirm his worries.  Of course, his men had gotten close to victory in the past, but always that damned CREATURE showed with his thrice-cursed and unholy magic to rip his forces to bloody shreds.  Where was the half-breed devil now with his powers? Where was he hiding to turn the tides now? Why was the beast allowing such havoc to be wrought amongst his people? Had the demon been slain on the field by some fluke?  
  
Dagmaer, prince of the Gronnjord, did not have time to think too hard on his concerns for the howling hurricane of slaughter had moved on without him, gone into the village proper.  He would not allow his people to face the mage alone if the hell-beast yet drew breath.  With a great cry like the roaring of a lion, he surged onward, sword held aloft, following the shriek of combat as it drew him ever closer towards the Great Hall...towards the tyrant Jarl that at last he might finally be overthrown.  
  
And if the Witch Prince DID yet live, Dagmaer would see him fall as well.    
  
He charged through the smouldering village, past dismembered villagers and past captives.  He had eyes only for the longhouse that dominated the center of the encampment where he knew Jarl would be cowering.  The yellow snake never fought honourably in combat, preferring to sacrifice his own people while he hid away behind them in the safety of the village.  It was usually a safe play, his pet sorcerer always driving the enemy back before they could ever hope to reach the ruler's safe haven...but not this time.  
  
Dagmaer's boots threw up black dust as he and a small contingent stormed up the hill to the longhouse, but what cared the Prince of the Inferno? He was already coated in a fine layer of the obsidian grit, his eyes watering.  He was caked in thick layers of blood and gore that had him stinking of carrion and sweat.  His teeth glittered white beneath the weak light of Ichorre's sun when he bared them.  To the enemy he already resembled a creature of the underworld so much that they turned and fled before the notched edge of his blade.  Even the gold of his hair no longer glinted in the daylight, gone tacky with the spilled fluids of the dead and dying.  
  
Only a single guard dared to stand in their way and Dagmaer, eyes feral but heart honourable, dispatched him quickly.  An enemy the man might have been, but the prince of the Gronnjord respected courage where he saw it.  The guard's head fell amongst the dust and no man noved to disrespect his corpse as they went by.  No prayers were said, though...for this was Ichorre, a land beyond the help of prayer.  Druuvan and his glorious whore had abandoned them to their fates long before any of their living memories.  No, no prayers.  
  
Honour was enough.  
  
With no one left to bar their way (for the other guards had either run for their pitiful lives from the maelstrom or were dying in the streets beyond), the men of Gronnjard rampaged into the Great Hall, halting once within the doors and listening carefully.  It was dark within, lit only by torches which were guttering low, unseen to.  There was food, uneaten, upon the table at the center of the Hall, but no one there.  The inhabitants had obviously fled, but where had Jarl gone in the chaos?  
  
Gesturing for some of his guard to stay put and keep watch on this floor, Dagmaer moved to go up to the top level where there were dwelling spaces.  Perhaps Jarl had gone up there to wait out the storm? The man would be dead already if he'd tried to leave the longhouse, so hated was he and so well was his face known.  
  
The minute Dagmaer's foot touched upon the first wooden stair, a loud scream rent the air around them, too wild to possibly be human.  A gust of wind as hard as a punch to the gut swept down the stairs and all throughout the Hall, knocking a few of the men from their feet and giving away the position of the mage.  The already weak torches snuffed out under the force of the blast and another low howl followed on the heels of the first.  It was the sound of a wild thing...of one damned to long torment.  The breath had almost gone out of it yet the pain remained in every second of sound.  So he had finally given up his courage and decided to fight from within the safety of the Hall? Let him cower and throw his paltry breezes then.  The Great Lion of Gronnjard would not be discouraged! He began his journey upwards anew.  Perhaps he could save whatever poor bastard was tortured at the whims of the hellcat.  
  
He went slowly, carefully, one foot ahead of the other with his blade held in front of him.  The upper level was deserted and the torches here had gone out long ago.  He was forced to adjust to the dim light in stillness before he could go on.  He felt apprehension prickle at the small hairs on the back of his neck as he went, lips drawn into a firm line.  Dagmaer looked like the spectre of death himself as he heard a low moan from a room at the end of the hall and padded towards it.  If he caught the sorcerer unawares, he might just have a chance.  
  
He heard voices.  
  
"Get up, wretch.  Get up.  They will come soon and we must flee..."  
  
A whispering groan responded and there was a sharp sound of skin hitting skin.  A slap.  
  
"Rise!"  
  
Dagmaer had to strain to hear the next words.  
  
"...I...I cannot feel my legs...hide her...and leave me."  
  
There was another blow and the Lion Prince recognized at least one of the voices now. 

"Whore! I said get up!"

It was Jarl. 

Steeling his resolve, Dagmaer went forward and kicked in the door where the voices were coming from, a towering inferno of swift judgement.  He pulled up short, puzzled by the scene before him.  He had expected to see one of his own men tortured.  He had expected to walk into the middle of a horrible death, but he had not been prepared for what greeted his eyes instead.  
  
Jarl stood there, pot-bellied and wide-eyed in horror as he looked upon his death, one hand raised to land another blow.  He stood beside a bed where a pale, narrow figure lay upon it naked and trembling in agony.  The sheets between the creature's legs were stained with blood and other, more mysterious fluids.  The body on the bed was sheened with sweat and sickly pale, almost diseased...there was clearly still blood coming from between the splayed legs, staining everything and filling the air with a coppery tang.  What the Lion Prince could see of the waifish thing's face already bore the beginnings of a bruise from the force of Jarl's hands.  Dagmaer hestitated for a moment, absorbing the grim tableau.  
  
It was all Jarl needed to attack.  
  
It was a blind lunge, born of mortal terror and it was easily put down.  Almost without thought, the powerful warrior broke the wrist of the hand that swung for him and put the screeching man on his belly.  The fat, old king snarled and struggled through his agony and Dagmaer yelled for the warriors he had left downstairs to come and collect their prisoner.  Their enemy had been captured.  The village of the Svartjord had fallen, ripe for the plucking.  Still, even as he held the king down, Dagmaer found his black and ice eyes trained on the shuddering creature on the bed.  This was the only part of the puzzle that still wanted solving.  
  
He heard the boots of his men thundering up the stairs and reliquished the king to them as soon as they were there, ordering them to take him away.  The doddering fool was no threat anymore and could safely be sequestered in a prisoner's tent until proper judgement was passed upon him.  There would be no execution yet.  That would wait.  It needed to be a public affair to cement their victory here.  It left him alone with the bleeding thing squirming weakly on the sheets, panting and gasping.  
  
Dagmaer stalked over with the deadly grace of a panther and looked down into the bed, his heart thudding violently at what he saw. 

Splayed on the sheets, marred with blood, sweat and grimy, viscous slime was the Witch Prince himself...Kar'i with his one solid black eye that marked him forever a half breed...not noble and not common.  From his other eye, his one gold iris glowed balefully as if he longed to rip out the throat of the Lion Prince.  The muscles of the suffering man's neck tightened as he tried to muster up the strength.  Only, he couldn't.  He was dying and it didn't take a genius or a doctor to tell that.  He was losing blood rapidly from between his legs.  Dagmaer was half-tempted to leave him there and let nature finish its cruel work, but his curiosity was stronger than his reason in this instance...it often was.  
  
He placed one hand beside the pale sorcerer's head and loomed over him, "You are dying."  
  
"Think you I do not know that, fool?" spat the creature, defiant to the last.  
  
"You bleed like a woman," said Dagmaer.  
  
It earned him a curse, "Can you not simply leave me to die in peace, else cleave my head from my shoulders and have done with it?"  
  
His voice wounded weak, fluttering.  He sounded a little afraid in a way Dagmaer didn't know he could be, rushing to be rid of the Prince.  It was enough to raise the suspicion of the conquering soldier.  
  
The Lion Prince's eyes narrowed, "You will tell me what became of my great enemy."  
  
"Sooner would I bite off my own tongue," muttered Kar'i, his moon-pale shoulders heaving with strain.  
  
Dagmaer opened his mouth to speak when a whimper sounded from beneath a pile of blankets at Kar'i's side, hastily piled over.  Dagmaer had paid them no mind at first, assuming they had been thrown to the side during a fit...during whatever was currently killing the most dangerous opponent in all of Ichorre.  Now, though, as he looked upon the bundle he began to see that there was a design to it.   Moving slowly, almost as if he would be burned, the Lion Prince reached for the blanket, drawing back when the Witch Prince snarled at him, all teeth and indignant fury.  
  
"Touch it and I shall rip the flesh from your hands and wear them for gloves!"  
  
Snorting, the Prince calmed himself and replied, "You've not the power, monster."  
  
He siezed up the blanket and peeled it away from whatever was squirming again.  Imagine his surprise when he found himself looking upon the pinched, ruddy face of a newborn.  His heart stopped and he uncovered the child completely.  It was a girl.  His mind whirred, putting all the information together as he looked from the still-slimy infant to the cooling life-blood still escaping from between the Witch Prince's legs.  Almost callously, he reached up with one gloved hand to probe between pale thighs, ignoring Kar'i's scream as he found something hiding beneath the perfectly male cock and balls the creature sported.  When he pulled back his hand, his glove was smeared with thick blood and the Witch Prince made a feeble attempt to kick out, failing and collapsing down.  
  
The baby girl in his arms whimpered again and Dagmaer made up his mind.    
  
Holding the infant close to his chest, he went to the door and yelled down for a healer.  This warranted more investigation and, if worse came to worse, two captives for execution would make a greater impact on the people than one.  
  
Behind him, Kar'i struggled to get up before giving up consciousness and collapsing back into darkness.  
  
  
  
wWw  
  
  
  
The battle had been won and the fires put out only now, a full two days later.  The villagers who had not been slain in the attack were rounded up and put under house arrest in what huts still stood.  There they would remain until judgement came with Dagmaer's father, Signy.  The old man's health was failing, but he had enough vigour in him yet to make the journey to begin assimilating Svartjord with Gronnjord and to see the execution of Jarl.  Too long had the King of the Svartjord been a thorn in both village's sides, only keeping his rule through magic and iron-fisted trickery.  He was an infection that needed to be leeched out before both tribes could heal and strive to become one.  Of course even old, wounded Signy wouldn't miss the definitive move which would put to rest generations of bloodshed.  He would also witness the end of the Witch Prince who had toppled more families than any warrior in the history of their ancient enmity.  
  
It was the Witch Prince who occupied Dagmaer's thoughts even now.    
  
The Lion Prince had taken up residence in one of the rooms of the Great Hall, glad at last to have a proper bed after the long march to Svartjord and the battle that had followed.  At the moment, however, he wasn't resting, instead sitting by the bed of the Witch Prince, Kar'i.  Never had Dagmaer had the chance to study the hellion so close before.  He was finding himself quite disgruntled.  The waif before him hardly looked like a scourge of man and woman alike.  He was too pale, too slender and altogether too young looking now with all the blood cleaned from his porcelain white skin.  His short ebony hair was ruffled on the pillow behind his head, only two long braids in front of his ears making him look anything like a warrior.  His rosebud lips were gently parted as he fought for breath still.  
  
This was no fearsome witch.  This was a fragile CHILD and one who was still likely to die at that.  
  
Yet...he was a monster, was he not? The scars that covered half his father's body were proof enough of that as was every shattered family that still mourned fathers and sons among the Gronnjord.  Even the tiny child sitting in Dagmaer's lap was damning, for nothing short of unnatural magics could have allowed a man to conceive and bear like a woman.  No, no matter how innocent his face, Kar'i was as diseased as the dishonourable swine who had sired him and his death would bring equal satisfaction as that of his father's.    
  
Still, the child at least...she was a beautiful girl.  She was as pale as her dam with the bright ruby markings of their race etched into her pretty flesh.  Her hair was inky like Kar'i's, but the copper of her irises were someone else's altogether.  She had a marvellously calm and wondrous personality, but she was still the spawn of that witch.  Who had the Witch Prince allowed close enough to get him with child? How had he even managed such an unholy feat? It had nearly killed him (and still might), but he had managed it all the same.  
  
Dagmaer was fascinated.  
  
The girl in his lap reached up to tug at his russet-golden mane, cooing.  She didn't ACT like a demon's get, but neither did the scourge of Gronnjard look like a demon.  Dagmaer was still very much on his guard even if the child was charming.  Perhaps he would take her as a spoil of war once her mother was executed...raise her as an illegitimate daughter until he had heirs of his own.  He'd already taken to calling her Runa in his head, not caring much for Kar'i's input even if the wretch lived to see daylight.  He wasn't destined to live out the week at any rate and with all he had taken from Dagmaer's people over the years, the right to his child's name was the very least he was going to give in return.  
  
Dagmaer looked upon the sorcerer as he struggled to breathe with a blank expression.  It was too bad, really.  He was a pretty thing.  Raised up right and with those powers put to good use, he might have been a charming enough consort.  
  
  Pulled from his reverie, he startled when one of his men knocked on the door to the room.  
  
"What is it, friend?" asked Dagmaer, knowing he'd have to get up, but not wanting to.  
  
"A Ruthro for you, my lord.  The chieftan and his lady are due tomorrow.  The Chief wishes the public execution of Jarl after his arrival," the soldier replied.  
  
The Lion Prince nodded his now-clean head, "Send the Ruthro back.  Let them know I am ready to receive them and I'll make arrangements."  
  
The soldier bowed and went to do as he was bidden.    
  
Once he was gone, Dagmaer stood, stretching out with the baby in one arm.  He needed to go to the prisoner's tent and see Jarl.  He hated the man, but it was still sporting to inform even the most loathed of enemies of his fate. It was one of the traits that separated the Svartjord and the Gronnjord, this honourable need to play fair.  True, the Gronnjord were still merciless and bloodthirsty as any race under Ichorre's cursed sun, but at least they kept to a code of ethics.  It raised them above the beasts.

Large enough to keep any threat away, Dagmaer thought nothing of keeping Runa with him for his errand.  She seemed happy enough with him anyway and he didn't have the energy to hunt down a nursemaid for the child.  He didn't even consider leaving her with her dam.  
  
  
  
WwW  
  
  
  
  
The prisoner's tent was exactly that...just a heavy tent on the far edge of the village completely surrounded by guards.  All the villagers were prisoners at this moment, but they were kept in the safety of their huts so they could at least be in comfort until their fates were decided.  The villagers were being considered innocents until a different judgement was passed and so they were allowed a modicum of peace and quiet with beds and food.  However, Jarl deserved no comfort so he got none.  He was kept tied to a post in the middle of the tent with no room even to lie down in the blackened earth.  He was a crafty coward and so could not be trusted.  
  
The man himself was covered in a myriad of bruises, left uncleaned.  Dried blood stuck to his face where a few soldiers had taken it upon themselves to take the frustrations of the years out upon him.  He barely even looked up when the Lion Prince pushed aside a flap of the tent to stand before him, one eyebrow raised.  Jarl just kept looking at the floor.  
  
The low rumble of Dagmaer's voice rolled over him, "Your fate has been decided, Jarl."  
  
Like a true coward, Jarl felt a chill pass down his spine, but tried for a show of bravado, "And what is it to be, pup?"  
  
"Death.  Public execution before your people and mine to prove the end of your reign," there was no satisfaction to the Prince's tone.

This was business.  
  
Jarl barked a rude laugh, "I do not see my heir tied here by my side, which means my reign will continue once he comes back for you."  
  
Truly, the mad old man was holding out for his own pet sorcerer to save him.  
  
Dagmaer DID take a small amount of satisfaction in taking the wind out of his sails this time, "Your heir lies dying in the Great Hall, not a whisper of power in him.  Birthing his demon-get destroyed him."  
  
He could see the other man's eyes widen and for the first time the fallen king looked up to him.  For a moment he was silent before he broke out laughing again.  
  
"You yet cradle my spawn! I endure, whelp, I endure!"  
  
The Lion Prince's nose wrinkled and his brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what the man was talking about.  He looked to the infant's curious copper irises and then to the king before him, balking when he realized that their eyes were the same.  He knew what it meant but his heart lamented to see for his own eyes how far Jarl had descended into vile moral turpitude.  The mad old bastard had gotten his own son with child.  Perverted old goat! The people of Ichorre were wild and vicious, true, but Dagmaer had been sure the races of the Gronnjord and Svartjord had some civility to them...some sense of self preservation that prevented something so despicable as incest!  
  
"So, will you put the infant to the sword as well? Tis the only way to end my rule," said Jarl, his voice as pleasant as pondscum.  
   
It was petty.  
  
Jarl was a bully to the last.  If he was going to die, he was going to kill something of his 'noble' captor as well.  If Dagmaer truly wanted to win, he'd have to murder the very babe he held in his arms.  The mad king knew how wretched a choice this would be for it was spoken all across the Black Wastes how honourable the Lion Prince of Gronnjord considered himself to be.  He also knew that Dagmaer, proud as any ungelded stallion, absolutely hated to lose.  
  
Dagmaer felt his stomach turning as he stormed out.    
  
He no longer knew what to do.  
  
  
  
WwW  
  
  
  
The Lion Prince stewed in confusion all through the night even after giving Runa to a nursemaid, well into the next morning and even towards the afternoon.  He paced like a man gone mad as he pondered his options waiting for his mother and father.  His face was so thunderous that his soldiers and servants avoided his path.  Some even feared that perhaps the Kar'i had gathered up enough power to yet bewitch the conquering warrior.  While there was fact to the rumor that Dagmaer was possessed, it was not quite in the way the superstitious among them were thinking.  The Witch Prince had gotten under his skin as sure as the sun rose each morning, but it wasn't through magic that the deed had been done, but rather through lamentable fate and terrible choice.

The way to win this war once and for all was to kill the ruling family of Svartjord and assimilate their people to create one city.  They were all of the same race after all so once the people were at peace with their new chieftans, it wouldn't be so hard.  This was tradition as old as spoken history for both Clans even though there had been very little cause to carry it out.  The royal family died to make way for a new lineage as peacefully as possible (if such a thing could be said)....but now he found that one of the royal family was no more than three days old.  
  
Killing children was NOT something Dragmaer was prepared to do.  
  
Yet victory and absolution could only come from the infant girl's death sentence. 

A traitorous, bloodthirsty part of his brain whispered that perhaps it would be kinder this way.  After all, she was born of a demon and her own grandfather.  Perhaps it was more humane to end her now before the bad blood that surely came of such a union destroyed her?

No. 

Dagmaer banished the wicked, ruthless thoughts from his mind.  There was no reasoning that would make this path right.  
  
He wandered to and fro, preparing to tear his own hair out until a clarion call sounded beyond the rough city wall.  The growing roar of thundering Ceffylarth hooves sounded in his ears and the Lion Prince realized that his parents had arrived with their own contingent from their village.  He turned from where he had been pacing atop the hill that boasted the Great Hall in time to see the be-scaled beasts stampeding in with his friends and family astride them.  He had no more time to wonder.  It was time to consult one wiser than his impetuous self.  
  
Heaving a deep sigh, he went into the Great Hall and shooed out anyone lingering, sending a messenger to send his parents up rather than going down to exchange pleasantries with them in person.  
  
They needed to talk and it was a matter of urgency.  Plans needed to be made this day else the people think they had gone too soft to properly control a ruling share of the land.  Leaving a shattered people in limbo for too long tended to breed unrest and that was the last thing they needed.  The conquerors from Gronnjord needed a proper end to the matter this very day so they could move forward plans to get everyone back on their feet.  Idle hands and unsure minds bred rebellion and frankly Dagmaer had seen enough death and carnage of late.

 

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Needless to say, the Chief and his wife were less than pleased that their only son hadn't come to greet them.  
  
They came into the hall together, Signy a great bear of a man with hulking shoulders now stooped with age and injury thanks to a particularly fierce and nasty trick by Kar'i in combat some years ago, and Eydis, silvered hair pinned up in a warrior's queu behind her and her violet irises radiating authority like an aurora.  They stood before their son, the long table separating both the room and themselves.  The Chief and his wife had come with intent to lecture their son on protocol, but saw only his injuries from the battle three days past and the dark circles beneath his eyes.  He looked weary and battered and, for all they were rulers, they were also yet parents and so felt keenly their son's woes even without speaking.  
  
Eydis sighed and swept to the table to sit, forgiveness already writ across her features, "I see plans for the execution have not been carried out."  
  
"They have been complicated I'm afraid, honourable mother," confirmed Dagmaer.  
  
"How so?" asked Signy in a rasping growl, limping over to join his wife.  
  
Their son planted the tops of his fists on the table and leaned over them on straight arms, head hanging in exhaustion, "The old bastard has done something I cannot in good conscience undo."  
  
"Has he taken his own life? Tis something the coward would do," the War Queen of the Gronnjord sniffed.  
  
"Nay, mother.  It concerns the Witch Prince."  
  
This time it was Signy, old and grizzled, who spoke, "Did he allow the demon to escape?"  
  
Dagmaer shook his head, lips pressed thin, "Kar'i lies dying upstairs.  Escape is not within his power.  That much I am at least pleased to say."  
  
Signy's rheumy eyes widened in surprise and his wife said, sharply, "If not that, then what has he done?"  
  
"He fathered a whelp through an incestuous entanglement with Kar'i.  It is the reason the battle was so easily won.  The demon was too busy being killed by childbirth to fight as he normally would," Dagmaer said.

He rubbed at his sinuses, "...And I cannot raise my hand to an infant."  
  
Signy sat in stunned silence as did Eydis.    
  
Their leonine son continued, knotting his hands in his own golden hair, "You know as well as I that to determine dominion over this contested land, we must kill the royals and insert ourselves.  We cannot do so as long as one royal lives, yet one of the royals is but a babe and I have not the heart to snuff out so brief a candle."  
  
There was still no response and Dagmaer wanted to rip his hair out.  
  
"What are we to do? Counsel me!"  
  
Eydis held up one hand to still her impatient son, ever a regal lady, "Peace.  Say you that Kar'i is dying?"  
  
Dagmaer gestured vaguely, "The healers saved him when he lay bleeding on his birthing bed, but they say conditions were too unfavourable when he gave life.  He is not expected to live out the week."  
  
She nodded and stroked her chin.  Signy, for his part, knew his wife was the wiser of the two of them, so did not speak.  He was the warrior and though his wife was as savage as he, she had a remarkable presence of mind that he adored and yet lacked himself.  
  
When Eydis spoke again, it was decisive, "Well, we cannot slaughter an innocent babe, no matter whose flesh it is sprung from.  There is another answer."  
  
"Only tell it to me and it shall be done!" said the exhausted prince, heart dancing with comforts at how easily his dam had solved his great and terrible quandary.  
  
"You must wed Kar'i before his people...join our royal families.  You will have a legitimate foothold here, his child becomes your heir and he will die soon so you will not be trapped in a loveless marriage."

That was not the answer the Lion Prince wished to hear.  
  
It was coldly political and it froze Dagmaer's guts.  Immediately and automatically, he found his eyes drawn to his father's scars, considering the one who had put them there.  The scars were hideous, like his father had been half been made of wax and put back together again, like he had melted and re-solidified.  Marrying the monster who did that, if even for a moment, was a heart-rending thing.  The Lion Prince immediately rejected the idea.  
  
"Nay, I cannot," he barked.  
  
His mother leveled a no-nonsense glare at him, "Then will you dash his child's head against the rocks and end the royal line wholly?"  
  
That startled the Lion Prince, "Nay!"  
  
Signy spoke this time, his voice like rocks rumbling over one another, "Then wed the Witch Prince and take this child as your own.  It shall be done today at Jarl's execution."  
  
"How can I wed one who has so wronged us?" snarled Dagmaer.  
  
"By doing as you have always done and putting the wellbeing of others before yourself!" said Eydis, her eyes flashing, "Your father is a grown man and is reconciled with his hurts.  We are warriors, but not monsters and will not suffer a newborn to die without need."  
  
Dagmaer's icy blue irises contracted in displeasure, "This is the only way?"  
  
Here, Eydis's formidable face softened, "Aye, forgive me."  
  
The Lion Prince raised his head proudly, "...Then I must go and inform my bride of the joyous announcement."  
  
  
  
  
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Dagmaer made his way into the dying prince's room and opened the door to find a baleful golden iris glittering at him.  He sighed and clicked the door shut behind him, lighting a candle before going to sit by the bed.  He was not looking forward to this.  Even now, powerless and disgraced, Kar'i was the last being any sane person wished to be in a room with.  There was a dark, superstitious part of the golden warrior's heart that still gave sway to such silly notions even when his eyes and mind told him otherwise.  
  
"When is the execution?" Kar'i's thin voice was little more than a whisper, but it was full of disdain.  
  
"Your father's execution is in an hour," said the Prince.  
  
"And what of mine?" sneered the Witch Prince before coughing pitifully.  
  
Dagmaer shook his head, "Whenever your body chooses to release you at last.  Your death will not be at my hand."  
  
Eyes too clever for their own good narrowed suspiciously, "What means this?"  
  
"You will die on your own within the week.  The healers assure me of this.  However, you will be wedded before you pass on.  Rejoice," the Lion Prince said levelly.  
  
He watched those strange eyes widen and the weak figure struggled to sit up, "I would rather the noose!"  
  
"And your daughter? Would you rather the noose for her as well?" Snapped the other man.  
  
Kar'i froze and looked at Dagmaer with an expression of hate and fear that actually managed to shake the other man down to his bones.  The expression was downright feral.  He'd seen that look in the eyes of wolves defending their young, not in civilized, thinking men.  
  
"You will not touch my child!"  
  
"Nay, I have no need to if she is my own," said the other prince sensibly, trying to ignore the rage of the sorcerer that so frighted him.   
  
 Fire and brimstone burned in Kar'i's single golden iris, his voice low and threatening a death he had not the strength to mete out any longer, "Explain..."  
  
"Either you wed me and join our families, giving me the option to save your daughter or you refuse and take your daughter to the afterlife with you," Dagmaer's tone was firm, "I know which choice an honourable man would make and I only pray you have some shred of decency in your husk of a soul that you might make the same choice."  
  
His body giving up, the young sorcerer fell back on the bed, gasping for breath.    
  
He made a sound that was neither laughter nor tears, "A daughter..."  
  
"You knew not?" asked the other in surprise.  
  
"How could I know?" the young demon spat, finding enough fire to hiss, "I had to hide her the moment she slipped from me.  I never even saw her face."  
  
Dagmaer considered the young man, deciding to tell him something of his daughter, maybe hoping to sway his heart towards the merciful decision, "...her name is Runa."

It was the wrong thing to say.  
  
The sorcerer bristled, trying to call up his magic and failing, "You bastard! You've no right to name her! She is mine!"  
  
"Yet, I have.  Now, will you wed me or no?" Now was not the time to argue, "Or will you kill yourself with your stupid thrashing and fruitless rebellions and leave me no option but to destroy perhaps the only good thing you have ever created?"  
  
Kar'i let out an angry sob and closed his eyes,not speaking for a time.  He had suffered so much indignity in his life and even now with the eve of his death drawing swiftly towards him, he would suffer yet another? What tattered shreds remainds of his pride were to be ripped from him and replaced with bridal rags.  More than this his daughter...the one spark of goodness that would have made his existence worthwhile was being snatched from him and given to another.  His silence hung in the air and Dagmaer grew anxious, seeing the indecision flit across Kar'i's closed eyelids.  If the monster even now refused to do the right thing, the Lion Prince would curse him to the very bottom of all damnation.

At last, the sorcerer's face smoothed in exhaustion and he said, "...I will do it.  What right have I left to pride or dignity in the end? I will do it...so help me..."  
  
Dagmaer nodded quickly to mask the wave of relief that washed through him, "Then I will prepare you.  We will wed before your father's execution that he may witness and you may say your goodbyes."  
  
He startled at the snort Kar'i mustered from where he lay on the bed, "Take your time.  I've no goodbyes for that man."  
  
"Not for the father of your child?"  
  
The black-haired boy-sorcerer curled his lip at the sentiment, "Letting an animal rut between my legs to save my own skin does not make the animal a father in anything more than title."  
  
"Ah...I had thought..." The Lion Prince had no idea why he was indulging in conversation with the little harlot, but he was drawn in all the same.  
  
"Ha! You thought us in some form of relationship? Here, help me up if I'm to dress for a wedding," Kar'i said, bitterly amused at Dagmaer's idiocy, and held out his arms.  
  
"Is it really so hard to believe with your depravity?" retorted Dagmaer, greatly disliking the scorn he heard in the other man's tone.

He reached out to help him up and absolutely did not wince when the ebony-haired youth choked on a scream as he was moved.  He was still raw and torn and abused down below, the pain radiating from his knees up to the small of his back.  When his feet touched the floor, the sorcerer bit down ferociously on a knuckle to keep from shouting in pain when his own legs were forced to hold him up.  He swayed dangerously and ended up against Dagmaer's powerful chest, heaving and shuddering.  He still found the energy to mock his husband-to-be.  
  
"You speak of depravity when you are the one wedding a child," said Kar'i against his shoulder.  
  
Both of Dagmaer's eyebrows rose, "Child?"  
  
"I am fifteen, you feckless idiot," snapped the sorcerer.  
  
The Lion Prince almost dropped his betrothed in shock and as it was he jostled him enough that the boy cried out.    
  
"Fifteen?" Dagmaer asked, feeling sick to his very noble stomach.  
  
"Aye and only just...now have a care and do not drop me, you soft-headed dolt.  I would have thought your stomach would be stronger than some swooning maiden's.  Does it horrify you so deeply?," he jeered viciously.  
  
No wonder something like childbirth was killing him.  He held the boy at arm's length, watched him tremble on deer-like legs.  He looked at his hips and noted that they were far too narrow to accomodate a baby, nevermind that he was male and shouldn't have been able to do so in the first place.  Even a girl of his age would have trouble bearing young and yet he had been forced to do it through incest and (the Lion Prince quickly thought of past battles in his head, adding up the months) had been fighting while the child was still in his belly, likely at the whim of his father.  Dagmaer found himself infinitely grateful that Svartjord was theirs now...it had been allowed to rot from the inside out for far too long.  
  
The sorcerer's voice was quiet, but smarmy when he spoke again, interrupting his betrothed's thoughts, "I am going to fall over if you do not support me better."  
  
Dagmaer shook himself and viciously tamped down the pity he was beginning to feel for the pale, pretty creature in his arms.  He was ashamed that he had let his righteous enmity slip, even for an instant.  
  
He told Kar'i so, "I have no care for what happens to you.  I will rejoice when your evil is gone from the world.  What you have done is unforgiveable...what you did to my FATHER was unforgiveable..."  
  
"Speeches," sighed the prince, "just what I wanted to hear on my deathbed."  
  
"Do you feel no shame?!" snarled the Lion Prince, forgetting himself and giving the boy a hard shake.  
  
He immediately regretted it when Kar'i let out a cry of pain and clutched at his arms.  
  
Then he wondered why he regretted it.

  
The sorcerer got his breath back and huffed, "No, Gronnjord's son, I feel no shame...not for surviving.  I feel no shame for murdering those who raised sword to me.  Would your blessed father have spared me if I had not fought him off with magic? Would ANY of your men? I also feel no shame for letting my father between my thighs when it kept my head on my shoulders.  I do not weep for the widows I have left in my path for I know I did NOTHING without provocation, Prince of the Inferno...and if you were wiser you could see that."  
  
His whole body was shaking like a leaf, "Even now it does not shame me to wed you for it protects my daughter...she who is best of me."  
  
Dagmaer watched him carefully for a moment before getting a more stable grip on him and helping him to prepare for their last minute wedding.  The Lion Prince knew not what to say.  He was finding this boy to be less and less a demon and more a monster of the long war's creation and that frightened him.  He wasn't supposed to pity the one who had crippled his father and slaughtered his people.  
  
He wasn't.  
  
  
  
  
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An hour later and the late afternoon sun found the whole village assembled in the square including the people that Signy and Eydis had brought with them from their home.  It had been decided that the living villagers of Svartjord were granted clemency and a chance to live in peace to rebuild their home alongside the Gronnjord who would become one with them now.  Those who disagreed were sent away, banished instead of killed in an act of mercy that swayed many.  Still, there was an execution to oversee that would stand as a symbol of the absolute death of the old era and the ushering in of the new.    
  
In the middle of the throng was the chopping block where the line between past and future was to be drawn.    
  
Before it stood Eydis, Signy and a stubborn Kar'i on his own two feet with his daughter in his arms.  He snarled fiercely at any who tried to take her from him.  They were worried he would take a tumble and take her with him, but if he had only a few short days with her before death took him, he would waste none of it.  If these people were to make her into one of their own, Kar'i was going to make DAMN sure she at least remembered her own mother's face.  Eydis kept an eye on him, but did not disrespect her son's bride-to-be with hovering.  She was actually rather impressed that the frail-looking thing had managed to get his feet beneath him.  Dagmaer stood beside the chopping block with his powerful hands resting over the pommel of his great sword.  
  
He had captured the city and it was his duty to see it through to the finish.  
  
The regal Lion Prince just looked straight on, the hot winds of the Black Wastes tugging at his golden mane as Jarl was brought forth, bound and blindfolded.  The struggle had gone out of the mad king in despair and Dagmaer could only feel revulsion for this vile creature.  At the very least Kari' had been concerned for his child instead of himself and faced death with some modicum of grace, but this THING cared only for his own neck.  He hadn't once tried to bargain for his son's life for for the little girl he'd helped to make...hadn't even asked of their welfare.  
  
All was silent around them as Jarl was dragged forth and made to kneel before the block, bent so his neck touched the notched wood.  Dagmaer didn't speak to him, but instead looked to Kar'i.  
  
"Will you bid your father farewell?"  
  
Those strange eyes narrowed and the weak Prince tipped his chin high, "...Rot in oblivion, Old man."  
  
Jarl snarled at him, but was held in place as the Lion Prince nodded, "So be it."  
  
He hefted his great sword with the skill of one who had held it from too young an age.  He took a breath to steady himself.  Though Jarl was a monster and a madman, he deserved a clean cut, not a mangling.  Calm settled over Dagmaer's heart and he brought the blade down, listening to the dull thunk as it cleaved flesh and bone, feeling the reverberation all the way up his arm.  He heard an uncomfortable shuffle as men and women moved back from the blood that liberated itself from the mad king's neck.  The body, released, hit the ground with a fleshy thump and the head was left where it was.  
  
Dagmaer looked to his parents and caught sight of Kar'i.  The sorcerer looked relieved and righteous all at once, eyes glittering.  He would probably dance on the man's corpse if he was given the chance.  
  
Taking his cue, Signy stepped up and spoke as Dagmaer walked to support Kar'i, "People of Svartjord and Gronnjord! For generations uncounted we have toiled over this land and shed blood! I say unto you now that my son shall take Prince Kar'i to wed and our tribes shall be joined that we may never war again.  There is plenty for all."  
  
Dagmaer felt Kar'i shaking where he held his arm and he knew it wasn't entirely from weakness.  He was fifteen, a new mother, growing weaker by the minute and about to be married off in front of all his people yet living...auctioned off like livestock.  As strong as the sorcerer was, this was terrifying.  Feeling it in him to be at least a little kind to the failing youth, the Lion Prince laid a hand on the small of his back comforting and leaned to whisper.  
  
"I am permitted to grant you one boon as my new consort."  
  
Kar'i turned his head slightly to look at him with one solid black eye, one ringed with gold, "...Give my father no honours and throw his body to the dogs that I will not see him in the afterlife when I die."  
  
Mouth turning down at the fear he heard in that voice, Dagmaer nodded.  It would be done.  
  
Before them, Signy had begun the ceremony, which was swift and binding.  Most weddings of this sort were.  He addressed the people first to learn their will and found them pleasantly accepting of the union, which he had hoped they would (part of the reason for his merciful treatment of the citizens earlier).  He then turned to Kar'i, pleased when the boy was able to repeat simple vows despite the pain clouding his vision, including allowing the adoption of his newborn princess into the family.  Finally, he turned to his son and the Lion Prince spoke his vows in a clear voice even though there was no need for all the crowd had gone silent as death.  
  
Anyone who looked at the Witch Prince could see that this was an emergency ceremony.  
  
He wouldn't last.  
  
When Dagmaer spoke the words necessary to adopt Runa, it was done and Signy dismissed the couple.  Traditionally this would be for the consummation, but no one even suspected such a thing would happen unless the Lion Prince was particularly heartless.  When it was over, Kar'i's knees seemed to go out from under him and it took Dagmaer supporting him to get him back to the longhouse.  Eydis took Runa and followed along behind them while Signy  
stayed behind to start work.  
  
  
  
  
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Eydis sat beside Kar'i's bed with Runa in her lap while the prince gasped and panted, fighting for breath...fighting against the pain of his lower body.  The poor thing had dropped back into sleep, all his energy used up to put on a brave face for the people during his wedding.  She watched him with pitying eyes despite the fact that he had been a sworn enemy and a great terror amongst the people.  He was a boy barely even old enough to be called a man and he was a veteran of too many battles...and dying from something that ought never have been forced on him.  
  
She sighed heavily and leaned back, smiling softly at Runa "Well, little one, at least you are worth it.  I'm sure he'd say the same."  
  
"He would," came a rasping voice from the bed.  
  
"You should be sleeping," Eydis scolded with a start, standing and going to tuck down his covers a bit, sitting on the edge of the bed.  
  
The boy snorted, "Trust me, I will have my fill of sleep very soon.  I wish to see my daughter while I am still able."  
  
Those were the words of a much older man and Eydis couldn't help but regret them.  
  
Still, she held out the child and watched as Kar'i reached to hold her, peering into her eyes.  There was love there, true love and devotion.  There were also things that Eydis had seen in many women before...awe over having created such a marvel and pure, unbridled terror at suddenly being responsible for such a tiny, breakable miracle.  Truly, it seemed that there was humanity in the sorcerer as he gently ran his thumb soothingly over her brow, never taking his eyes from her tiny face.

When again he spoke, his eyes were dry yet his voice was thick with tears unshed, "...Your idiot son...will he care for her?"  
  
Eydis ignored the insult to her son, "If he didn't intend to, he wouldn't have wedded you.  He did it to save her life...and so did you, I expect."  
  
"Of course," he whispered, touching her cheek with one pale finger, "It's not like wedding your son would have saved me...this was all for her."  
  
The older woman reached out to brush his cheek and he startled at the touch, staring at her.  
  
Her eyes were kinder than they had been yet, "Kar'i.  Are you frightened?"

The boy shook his head ferociously, looking affronted, "I have faced worse than this.  I may not survive, but I am not afraid."

They didn't sound like his own words, not like ones born of the heart anyway.  They were a balm against hard times, a mantra meant to keep him going even when circumstance was cruel.  She'd heard the words from her own lips in some shape or another during the bloodies of battles.  She could also hear shades of Jarl within his speech, still haunting him from beyond the grave, beating and belittling him into taking nothing for himself.  He was his father's perfect soldier, a master of magic unhindered by fear or pain. 

She didn't believe a word of it.

The War Queen of the Gronnjord laid a comforting hand on Kar'i's shoulder, "You are permitted to be afraid."  
  
Kar'i's breath hitched, but he tried to sound bored, "I...I always thought I would go on the field of battle, that's all...quick and ugly.  This waiting is miserable.  I would rather Namye stop her damned dawdling and take me."  
  
"Namye?" asked Eydis.  Why would one so young speak of a goddess who had abandoned them millenia ago? Surely the child didn't believe...  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her as if he had read the Queen's mind, "She has more pressing concerns, but she's still there, you know.  It's what my mother used to say."  
  
"You still believe in the gods..." she said in curiosity.  
  
"My mother was the last priestess of Namye for as much as that matters here in Svartjord.  It made her little more than a prostitute in my father's eyes, of little practical use, but pretty.  Still, she was a true believer...tis why I have my 'blessing'...or so said my dam," he rolled his eyes.  
  
"Your magic," Eydis filled in.  
  
"Aye.  Raised to be the last believer born of the last priestess...and therefore the only living sorcerer in all Ichorre.  Look where that got me..."  
  
Eydis's old hand slipped up to pet over his silky black hair, saying nothing for a moment.  
  
"...My husband forgives you for his injuries, you know."  
  
Kar'i choked a bit in surprise and dread.  He knew what was happening.  Everyone was making amends so that his spirit could rest in peace when it finally departed.  It made it a bit more real and he quickly handed his daughter back to the old Queen.  
  
"I have changed my mind.  I wish to sleep."  
  
Her brow furrowed and the child in her arms whimpered, but she bowed her head and stood to go.  she'd go and visit her son for a time...let the boy think and make his peace.  
  
She hoped dogs were feasting on Jarl's eyes.  
  
  
  
  
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The old Queen had given her son his new daughter and gone for a walk to gather her thoughts and take in the air of the evening.  The Great Hall was too oppressive as everyone just waited around, wondering when Kar'i was going to die.  She hated it and it wasn't helping the boy.  Yes, theirs was a pragmatic people who understood the harsh realities of a life forsaken by the gods on the other side of the world, but that didn't make it less frightening for a child...even one as hardened as the Witch Prince.  She'd seen plenty of children die in this world...but not this way.  This wasy the way old men were meant to die...slow and wondering when it would all end.  
  
It almost seemed too cruel, even for the twisted, forsaken realm of Ichorre.  
  
Without realizing what she was doing, the Queen found herself standing beyond the front gate, considering the sky.  Once upon a time, so very long ago, there had been gods up there.  Their creator had been merciless and wild, but he had still been there, hearing what prayers they had to give and standing as some form of safeguard over them.  For a time, there had been his bride as well, but she sorrowed over them as if they were broken, misshapen things that hurt her eyes to behold.  She had taken their creator then and left them all alone, howling in the darkness on the other side of the world.  They did not deserve what few still had faith in them...at the very least they owed a debt to those who still raised their voices in prayer.  Eydis heard a voice raising to the sky and barely noticed that it was her own.  
  
"He believes in you.  Fates know why, but he does.  If it was you, you made him different and he has done naught but suffer for it.  If this is your way of telling us we are not permitted even to pray to you any longer, then your cruelty is beyond measure.  If you meant to bless him for his faith, then you are failing."  
  
She stopped and touched her lips when she noticed she was speaking to a goddess long gone away...but in the end, what could it hurt? It was someone she could speak to who would not judge her.  
  
"Do you hear, Namye?"  
  
There was only silence.  
  
"Do you hear?"  
  
She tried again and once again heard nothing but the winds whistling over the Black Wastes.    
  
  
  
  
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The days passed and no one seemed to know whether to hover in Kar'i's room or else to completely abandon it.  Dagmaer was the most conflicted of these folk.  Technically the sorcerer was his husband and he owed him his allegiance (at least publicly), but the boy's mood only grew worse and he had no idea how to handle the situation.  Even now he was standing outside the door wondering whether he should go in or leave the boy to his peace.  His choice was made for him when an irritated voice called out.  
  
"I can hear you breathing like a Ceffylarth out there.  Either come in or go away."  
  
Sighing, he pushed open the door and walked in, asking, "How do you feel today?"  
  
Those peculiar eyes rolled at him from where the Prince lay propped up in bed, "You mean do I feel any closer to dying? Annoyingly, no."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Kar'i watched him for a moment before letting out a suffering huff and gesturing to the chair beside his bed, "At least come and sit."  
  
Dagmaer approached and sat gingerly.  He knew how he was supposed to handle this creature when he was still an enemy, but now that he was a husband? He had no clue, especially when he had no idea how long he would actually have to be a husband for.  He was admittedly out of his depth.  All he could do was sit and watch as his child betrothed stared out the single window in the room.  He looked frustrated.  
  
"I wish something would just happen.  The pain disappears from me, but my magic does not return...and I sleep more.  I cannot tell what is happening and nor can any healers," the Witch Prince blurted, his long fingers folded in his lap.  
  
The Lion Prince sighed and leaned forward.  
  
It earned him a narrow-eyed glare, "Not that you care, apparently."  
  
"I simply know not what to say," he replied honestly.  
  
Kar'i sighed heavily this time, trying to remain aloof and failing, "...I know it matters not to you...I do not ask it to matter.  I suppose I simply wish I knew how much longer I had to say farewell."  
  
The Lion Prince looked at his husband curiously and again wondered where the ruthless, psychotic monster of the battlefield had gone.  Warily, he reached out and twined his fingers with Kar'i's.  He was a little gratified (if not surprised) when the boy gripped back.  He gazed at the youth's distracted face and had to confess again that he was a lovely boy.  Dagmaer wondered what he would have been like if he'd been raised in Gronnjord...far away from the hellish nightmare of his father's domain.  He had courage and strength and he bore beautiful children (a fact that Dagmaer had just come to accept).  Had circumstances been different, he would have been a stunning consort.  
  
Now he just looked exhausted and resigned most of the time...and when he wasn't either of those he was irritated and sickly.    
  
It seemed such a wasted opportunity.  
  
"Say something."  
  
Dagmaer startled at Kar'i's voice, "What do you want me to say?"  
  
The boy seemed far away, "...Say anything.  I just want to hear your voice."  
  
It was the softest thing he'd ever heard the mage say so, full of a tenderness he could not describe. 

"Would I be permitted to ask a question, then? I feel...that perhaps I should know you better than I do," said Dagmaer, the ice in his eyes gone soft.

Kar'i nodded weakly and the Lion Prince forged ahead, "You are a mystery to me.  You are one of the most powerful creatures living and yet...you seemed frightened of your father, that old, fat fool.  You let him do unspeakable things to you.  Why? What allegiance did you owe him?"

"None, Dagmaer.  I have always hated and feared him."

"But you are stronger than he!" said the Lion Prince, tawny brow furrowed in dismay.

The sorcerer held up one hand, waving vaguely and summoning a few weak spits of light that guttered out almost as soon as they met the open air, "Magic is not so simple a thing, Prince.  It has rules.  I need use of my hands for some conjurings, others the use of my mouth to speak the holy words.  It is also dependent upon how much I want the magic at any given moment, for it lives within me always like a well-spring, flowing through my blood, yet if I do not desire to use it, it lies dormant.  I was able to to great and terrible things on the battlefield because I willed it and I needed to be able to.  As for my father...he observed me from the time of my first conjuring and learned the rules alongside me...knew how to exploit them."

The sorcerer raised one hand and held it out flat and Dagmaer leaned in to look at it.  What he saw there was faint, but damning evidence of Kar'i's words.  His fingers, long and elegant, were very slightly (ever so slightly) crooked at the first knuckle.  It wasn't obvious and very few would be able to divine the meaning behind such an imperfection, but Dagmaer was a longtime warrior.  He knew what such a thing meant and it turned his stomach.

"...He broke your hands."

Kar'i nodded and withdrew, leaning back against his pillow, "Only the first time.  I learned to behave after that.  I was watched at all hours to ensure I never plotted revenge.  Trust me, Dagmaer...a sorcerer I may be, but I am yet only one man and can be overpowered and killed as easily as any other."

Dagmaer looked over his husband again and found he couldn't disagree with that assessment.  Kar'i was small for their kind, slim where most were muscled, his bone structure delicate and refined where most were heavily built to take damage.  There was a softness to him, from the elegant arch of his brow to the swan-like vulnerability of his neck.  He wasn't ever meant to be a warrior, this moon-pale being of ether and ice and starlight, yet his magic had thrown him head first into the mad chaos of war all the same.  All it would take was to catch him unawares and he would be no match for a physical opponent.  The Lion Prince had never fancied that one of his greatest enemies would look so very breakable up close...or that he would inspire this strange spark of compassion in Dagmaer's breast.

Suddenly, he found himself looking into Kar'i's determined, two-toned gaze, "Prince of Gronnjord, swear to me you will protect my daughter when I'm gone.  She was conceived by wicked parents and by wicked means, but what I said was true.  She is all that is good in me and you must swear that she will want for nothing...that she will be a true princess....not some bastard, broken thing."

The Lion Prince could hear 'like me' in the air even though Kari's voice never rose to add it.

He could see the exhaustion rising on the sorcerer's pale face and he squeezed the hand still in his grip, "You have pledged yourself to me.   That makes her mine so I will love her as mine.  Rest now."

The ebony haired sorcerer looked wary, but he was too tired to argue.  He closed his eyes against his will and his fingers slipped from Dagmaer's hand as his muscles all went lax.

Dagmaer tried not to be disturbed at how quickly he was falling asleep these days.  
  
  
  
wWw  
  
  
  
  
That night Kar'i slipped into a coma.  
  
It was Eydis who found him, coming to bring him Runa early the next morning before breakfast as was her wont.  At first she thought him dead and felt great despair with a small amount of peace, for the boy was finally free.  Then she saw he yet breathed and everything turned on its head.  Now there was hope that he still lived and despair that he was trapped in limbo, unable to just be free of the pain that plagued him every minute.  She sat heavily in the chair by his bed, holding his Runa tight to her chest.  
  
She couldn't help but feel cheated.    
  
She had deigned to speak to Namye, the very goddess who had taken Druuvan and abandoned them to Ichorre.  Namye had closed her ears and laughed in the old Queen's face.  They were still a forsaken people and she had let herself forget that out of hope.    
  
How foolish.  
  
It was Signy who found her next and he needed not say a word.  He merely gripped her shoulders and kissed the top of her head before turning to go and inform the people.  The time was drawing near.  He sent Dagmaer to the room and the golden warrior just stood in the door staring at the pathetic sight before him and almost wished that Kar'i had met him in combat that the youth could have had an honourable death instead of all this.  He rubbed at his brow and stepped into the room.  
  
Eydis heard him and stood, bowing politely and leaving to give him some peace after allowing him to greet Runa (she was already a very possessive grandmother).  
  
Alone with his fading husband, the Lion Prince sat down heavily and stared.  He reached for those fingers as he had the day before, only this time they did not reach back.  They could no longer seek comfort.  Just yesterday the boy had wondered when he should say goodbye and it had been his only time to do so...another wasted opportunity.  Dagmaer hissed air heavily from between his teeth and pressed his husband's hand to his forehead, not grieving...he told himself he would have had to love Kar'i to grieve...but the ache he felt in his heart came something near.  
  
It was only a matter of time now until all opportunities were wasted utterly.  
  
Chaff on the wind.  
  
  
  
  
WwW  
  
  
  
  
If Dagmaer had known that first morning how much more miserable this part would be, he would have suffocated the poor sorcerer in his sleep right then.  
  
The boy was still as death yet not dying and it was a week on from when he had first slipped into his coma.  It wasn't that it was particularly painful for the Lion Prince personally, but he knew well even from their brief talks how much Kar'i valued his mind and his liberty and now here he was without either.  He was comatose in a bed without the ability to move or think for himself.  Dagmaer shouldn't have felt so bad for him.  He shouldn't.  He had only married the whelp to save a baby and he should have seen this lingering death as just punishment for the things the boy had done.  
  
He went in circles now between that line of thinking and then chastising himself and feeling utterly miserable on the lad's behalf.  After all, he knew Kar'i at least somewhat now and his old hatreds meshed poorly with the truth of the tortured mage lying upstairs.  He was only falling back on his anger and prejudice to ease his own heart.  After all, wouldn't it be easier to let his husband go if he yet despised him as a monster?  
  
Outside, the city was recovering and expanding as the people from his village began to move in and bring the makings of their own homes.  This would be a formidable place one day very soon with all the might of both peoples brought together in perfect harmony.  Gronnjord would still stand, it was decided, as would Svartjord.  However, the two would be joined by a trade road and peopled evenly by citizens of both tribes.  Someday perhaps their joined villages would flow into one another and create a great city.  It seemed that the only thing holding everything else in limbo was the survival of their Prince.  Some of the more pragmatic in the city had even begun discussing just burying the man as he was.  After all the likelihood of him ever waking up again was negligable at least...said it would be kinder to let the people move on.  
  
The leader in Dagmaer saw the merit of the idea, but the good and honourable man in him could only be horrified.  
  
His main comfort was his daughter.  Runa was a beauty already and an utter delight when he was lost or lonely.  So long as she could look upon her mother at least once a day she laughed often and desired to be held and loved above all things.  She was yet so small, fitting neatly into her adoptive father's two massive hands...only a week and a half old and yet she radiated adoration sure as a candle gave off heat.  Her copper eyes glinted like new coins when she was joyful and the sunlight made her hair shine like fresh-polished obsidian.  Even the ruby of her markings looked fresh and bright.  She was a merry child and there were times when Dagmaer wondered how she had come from the parents she did.  
  
She was a worthy heir and her grandparents adored her already even though she was theirs via a sham of a wedding and not blood.  
  
Dagmaer knew though, however much she delighted to see her dam's face once a day, difficult decisions would have to be made and quickly.  Soon the boy would either die or his physical form would begin to waste and neither of those were a kind thing for a child to see.  Perhaps it would be easier to end the torment sooner rather than later, so one day he did not take her to the room.  At the beginning of the day it was fine for they didn't always go to see Kar'i at the same time.  As a matter of fact, they made it through the entire day without a fuss and into the night.  The Lion Prince began to feel confident...and it was only too bad that he didn't simply realize that a child so young as Runa wouldn't yet have a good grasp of time.  
  
In the end, it took her two days to notice.  
  
Then the screaming started.    
  
It was sniffles at first and whimpering when nothing seemed to be wrong.  Then it escalated to cooing noises just the wrong side of distressed throughout the day as if she were trying to locate her mother through sound alone.  When that failed after an entire day, she began to fuss and then by the time they were deep into the night it had become full on squalling.  She was inconsolable.  she howled like a thing possessed, but Dagmaer would not take her to that room.  He had to sever the tie now...neat and clean no matter how much his ears pained him or how hard she tugged on his golden hair.  
  
He had to endure.  
  
It just became a hell of a lot harder to endure by the first hour of morning when his back hurt from pacing and rocking her, when his throat was hoarse from reassuring and when his feet were sore.  He needed sleep.  He needed peace.  He needed his daughter to be alright.  He groaned and collapsed in a seat by the fireplace in the Main Hall, totally alone save for the screams of the infant and the crackle of the fire behind him.  His eyes started to droop even as she bawled openly in his ear.  Fates, he was a terrible father.  
  
"...Let me hold her," said a low voice in the darkness.  
  
Groaning, eyes closed, Dagmaer did as he was told and he felt the baby slipped delicately out of his hands.  Truly, he must have been exhausted if he hadn't even heard someone joining him in the hall.  He assumed it was some nursemaid who had grown agitated with the child's distress and the failure of her father.  The screaming continued on, however.  
  
Then there was silence.    
  
He didn't register it at first.  
  
Then there was laughter...and that he DID notice.  
  
The Lion Prince looked up sharply and saw something he never thought he would.  Standing there in an oversized shirt (clearly purloined) with the collar slipping off one moon-pale-and-ruby shoulder was Kar'i.  The light of the fire shone through the thin fabric of the shirt a bit, highlighting his slim silouhette as he stood there with his baby on his hip.  His hair glinted in the firelight and his strange eyes danced.  The light of the blaze caught against the finely etched bones of his cheeks and the regal lines of his brow...made his rosebud lips look soft and his fawn-like legs long.  
  
Dagmaer stared at him, jaw agape, "...You live."  
  
"'Tis a wonder," the other replied, smarmy.  
  
He knew more than he was telling.  
  
"How?" demanded the other, breathless, fearing all manner of things...ghosts and demons.  
  
He found himself pinned with a gaze wiser than it's years, half solid black and half with a ring of gold, "It seems my magic, from wherever it has come, is not done with me.  The long sleep was meant to heal."  
  
Dagmaer grew suspicious, icy-blue and black and narrowing, "...And have you your magic back? It is capable of such things?"  
  
"Aye, and will use it if you do not stop looking at me in such a manner," scowled the sorcerer, not appreciating the wariness he saw reflected back at him.  
  
"Do you not wish to kill me?" he asked, seeing if the Prince would mount an insurrection now that he had his legendary magic back as well as his strength.  
  
"Why?" asked Kar'i, one fine black eyebrow held aloft.  
  
"Because I slaughtered your people, killed your father and forced you to wife?" supplied the baffled Prince.  
  
"For Namye's love, I thought we had gotten past this lunacy" huffed Kar'i, bouncing Runa on his hip while she laughed, "I am a mother and the war is over.  I will be greatly pleased to leave killing at my back for the time being."  
  
The Lion Prince looked suspicious still and the teenager came over and grabbed his powerful jaw to prove his point.  
  
"Hear me well, Dagmaer the Inferno...I am not a creature to be trifled with, but I have been killing since my fifth birthday simply to survive.  From my very infancy my brothers thought to murder me for the throne and so I was forced to be the greater monster.  Ten years have I been an instrument of unceasing chaos and I am TIRED and I would like very much to have a bit of peace even if it means being your Consort.  Provided you give me no reason to want to set you on fire, I will not do so.  You heeded my words when I was yet dying, heed them now while I am living," the pretty young mage truly sounded like this was the last he wanted to say on the matter.  
  
"I..." Dagmaer blinked, "...very well."  
  
"Good.  Now then," Kar'i smiled at his daughter even as she fought to keep her eyes open, "Your idiocy has cost Runa her sleep.  We are going to put her to bed and then sleep ourselves.  You look like shit."  
  
The Lion Prince could think of absolutely nothing to say, so he said the only thing that came to mind.  
  
"...You called her Runa."  
  
He yelped in pained surprise as a small electric shock hit him, but considering what Kar'i could do it was a relatively small reprimand.  
  
He took it as a good sign and followed after, feeling lighter than he had in weeks (though he would not admit it).  
  
  
  
  
wWw  
  
  
  
  
Eydis had received quite a fright the next morning when she'd come down to breakfast to find her new granddaughter sitting upon her dam's lap in front of the fire in the Great Hall the next morning.  The lad was sitting next to his husband arguing about something and the old War Queen's first response was to gasp and fall back under the weight of the shock.  Her second reaction was to cry aloud in joy, drawing the room's attention.  She walked over to the bench where the two sat as fast as dignity allowed and nearly wept when the boy cocked her a sly little half grin.  
  
"Good morrow, mother-in-law.  I suppose you shall be disheartened to know you are stuck with me," he snarked.  
  
She tweaked his ear hard and then embraced him, not needing to say a single word.  Dagmaer seemed a bit shocked that she got away with that without physical injury.  It seemed Kar'i was already putting his husband in his place.  
  
Her cry drew her husband who had already been stumping down the hall.  The old man looked upon the scene and could only raise one bushy eyebrow before muttering something about the tenacity of wizards.  He finished limping up to the table in the Hall's center and called over a startled servant to bring him some breakfast before sitting down.  It seemed the whole household was in fits over the fact that the dying prince seemed not only to be alive but well.  Some whispered of dark magic, but others still were pleased that one member of their royal family lived to represent them.  Kar'i had been a terror true, but mostly to his enemies.  The common folk had ever only been his allies.  
  
As Signy seated himself, he nodded to Kar'i, not letting the boy see the relief in his eyes, "Well...this seems like a cause for celebration, does it not?"  
  
Dagmaer raised a golden eyebrow, "Celebration?"  
  
"Aye.  You two never had a wedding celebration for we believed Kar'i to be in dire straits.  Of course, now the lad is returned to us, I say we release this breath we've been holding with a joyous shout," said the King sagely.  
  
Eydis was scheming right along with him, stealing Runa away from her son-in-law, "Tomorrow should be excellent."  
  
Kar'i didn't complain when she took his daughter, just basking calmly in the warmth of the hearth and trying not to snort in dark amusement at how baffled his husband looked.  It seemed that the young sorcerer had a mischevious heart when he had the energy.  
  
Later, after breakfast the new husbands were left alone together for a walk through the large garden behind the longhouse.  Eydis and Signy had absconded with the heir, claiming that the spouses needed time to get to know one another as they had not before.  So far, it had been incredibly awkward and silent as they sat on a bench beneath a great, twisted tree, the scent of kitchen herbs filling the air all around them.  Kar'i didn't want to admit it, but he was getting more and more annoyed by the minute with just sitting there and his irritation was filling the air with palpable energy.  He KNEW Dagmaer had only wed him thinking this would be a short-term arrangement, but did he have to act so miserable about his continued survival? Especially after he'd been so warm while Kar'i was still on his deathbed! Where had that compassion gone?  
  
They'd seemed on alright terms last night, but he supposed that was just relief that the waiting had come to an end.  
  
In the light of day, Dagmaer didn't seem nearly so happy.  As a matter of fact, he looked constipated.    
  
Finally, Kar'i turned to him with a glare, the beads at the ends of his braids clacking together softly beneath his chin before settling, "Could you simply try?!"  
  
Dagmaer startled, "What?"  
  
"To not ignore me.  I know you wedded me under the impression I would be dead before week's end, but I am alive and not prepared to be ignored for however long I continue to live."  
  
"I..."  
  
"We're expected to have a proper wedding night tomorrow and I'd prefer to not be fucked by a complete stranger, thank you."  
  
That shocked the Lion Prince, his eyes going wide.  He hadn't even considered that.  He looked over at his child bride...at the haughty tilt of his chin and the frustration in his dangerously narrowed eyes.  He took in the stubborn set of his mouth and then at his slim form and he balked slightly.    
  
"I...you are a child..."  
  
The eyes narrowed to slits, "Be wary with your next words."  
  
Dagmaer sighed and put his face in his hands, "You are lovely, but..."  
  
Kar'i tried to ignore his own pleased flush in favour of his anger, "I've already had a child in case you've conveniently forgotten and I am the most respected warrior in my clan.  I will not have your dishonour."  
  
"I just hadn't considered...we will be expected to share a matrimonial bed...to bear children together..." the golden warrior breathed out as if he couldn't fathom it before Kar'i's voice stopped him cold.  
  
"A matrimonial bed, yes, but no more children."  
  
"It will be expected..."  
  
"No."  
  
He looked over and saw a fierce, almost terrified light burning in the sorcerer's eyes and at first he was tempted to be angry with the outright refusal.  He was tempted to remind the upstart boy that he had been Dagmaer's PRISONER first.  He could put as many children in him as he pleased! Then he considered those dark thoughts and shuddered before wondering at the boy's adamant refusal.  One child had almost killed him...but perhaps that was only because he was so young?  
  
"I understand your concern, but maybe once you are older it will be easier?"  
  
Kar'i huffed and looked away, "I do not fear for my own life."  
  
Curious, Dagmaer scooted closer, eager to peel away another layer of his mysterious spouse, "...Then what do you fear, Kar'i?"  
  
For a long moment the boy was stubbornly silent and the Lion Prince didn't push him, just sitting there like a muscular sentinel.    
  
Finally, the boy puffed out a loud breath and said, "I will allow no competition for succession.  Runa is my firstborn and I owe her my devotion...I owe her safety."  
  
Ah.  
  
Reaching to touch one of the boy's hands softly and holding him when he startled, Dagmaer asked, "Your brothers?"  
  
The sorcerer assessed him to see if he really wanted to hear before relenting, "I had four brothers, all full-blooded royals.  I was a half-breed from my father's whore.  My father kept me for some peculiar reason and so the games began...his own amusement, most likely.  Only the last surviving child would ascend to his throne."  
  
His eyes went fierce, "I survived."  
  
Dagmaer squeezed his hand, "You did...and very well.  I promise you succession would not work that way, but if it is your wish, Runa is a very worthy heir.  No more children."  
  
Kar'i's strange eyes went wide as if he hadn't actually expected to get his way without a terrible fight.  The way things had worked in his family, he was as likely to catch a fist in the mouth for his brazen declaration as get what he wanted.  
  
Feeling bold, Dagmaer leaned forward to kiss him, quite liking that he managed to be the one to surprise the sorcerer for once instead of the other way around.  When he pulled back, he spoke quietly, resting his forehead against Kar'i's.  
  
"I've no wish to quarrel, either, if I am honest.  I want peace as well, Kar'i.  I have fought long and hard, just as you have," the Prince reassured, "You are a fair creature and I am sure we can learn to have true affection for one another as husbands given time."  
  
His black-haired bride leaned forward, his face writ with challenge, "I thought I was a monster? That I had no shame and that I had no goodness within me?"  
  
The Lion Prince met his eyes without hesitation, staring into their depths and making his choice, "Even good men may become monsters when given no choice.  You clearly never hurt your people for they are glad that you live and you were prepared to tear the skin of my hands off to protect your infant daughter with your last breath where your father happily condemned her to take a petty swing at me.  Whatever else you have the potential for, I say unto you now that I see the markings of a good man in you.  I do not love you yet, but I see in you a man I could learn to love."

It was not the most romantic speech ever uttered, but it was not meant to be.  These were hard people and honesty was more valued that pretty lies meant to spare feelings.  It was actually a mark of honour that Dagmaer respected his husband enough to tell him nothing less than the truth.  They were former adversaries with a long history of violence between them forced into an arranged marriage.  Dagmaer spoke only the truth, one that Kar'i readily accepted for he knew it as well as the other man did.  In that honesty, though, were sentiments that shocked the mage...things he had never heard before.   
  
For a time, all Kar'i could do was stare and truly then Dagmaer could see the wounded child looking out from behind the sly killer's eyes.  All his life his worth had been determined by how good a weapon he could make of himself...by how willing a whore he could be...how useful a trinket.  No one in his life had ever looked at him and seen him for what he was, only for what they could fashion him into.  To have someone look at him and just see HIM was a gift he had never received.  He could do nothing when he felt tears filling his eyes unbidden.  
  
 He refused to cry openly, but the shine of emotion was in his eyes as he grabbed his husband's shirt, hauling him down into a fierce kiss.  Growling like the Lion for which he was so named, Dagmaer returned it, his fall of russet-gold hair swinging down like a curtain to hide them from prying eyes.  It wasn't a tender kiss...more made of teeth and blood than love and tenderness.  They kissed like drowning men in need of dry land, only separating when the need for air became too great and then they could only stare at one another.  
  
From a window above, Eydis watched and then looked up at the sky.  
  
"Well...maybe we're not so forsaken after all."

She smiled down at the cooing baby in her arms before peering down at her sons, now wrapped in another passionate embrace.  Chuckling to herself, she turned away from the window with Runa.

"Come away, darling.  You're too young to see such things yet."  
  
  
  
  
wWw  
  
  
  
  
It had been all too easy to sneak away from the party.  
  
Eydis had used her grandmother privileges to have a hold on Runa most of the evening (probably anticipating just such a stunt) and there had been enough alcohol flowing to ensure that most folk were too drunk to notice if the guests of honour weren't there.  The two princes had waited for an opportune moment between songs and well-wishers to slip up the staircase leading to the upper level.  The only thing stopping them from making it to their room was them.  Dagmaer, actually quite a randy beast, kept insisting on pinning his young husband to the walls and kissing him breathless while Kar'i kept using magic to elude him until they were both thoroughly worked up.  They'd been working each other up since the day before in the garden, dropping little challenges for one another until their blood was too hot to wait a second longer.  
  
As they reached the corridor leading to their shared room, Kar'i had begun a new game to tease his husband.  He'd turned himself invisible, dropping a piece of clothing every few feet like breadcrumbs.  It had his warrior mate snarling like an animal as he found each new item until he stood before their door.  Then the golden warrior paused, closing his eyes and listening.  When he heard the soft scuff of a foot upon the wooden floor, he lunged and wrapped his arms around a skinny waist, throwing the squirming form over his shoulder.  Kar'i dropped his illusion and groaned when he felt a large hand on his bare rump.  
  
Oh yes, Dagmaer was done playing.  
  
The large man shoved open their door and kicked it closed behind him, stalking over to the bed and tossing Kar'i onto it before crowding over his smaller form, naked now from his game.  
  
"I am going to fuck you until you cannot stand," he growled low in his husband's ear.  
  
The sorcerer let out a whine and arched his back, dragging his nails down Dagmaer's clothed shoulders.  With magic at his fingertips, Kar'i split the clothes he touched as easily as if he'd taken a knife to them and cast the ruined garments aside randomly.  If that wasn't the most arousing thing the Lion Prince had ever experienced, he didn't know what was.  It put a fire in his blood and he fastened his teeth to the tender skin below Kar'i's ear.  
  
"Oh witch, I will make you beg for me before the sun rises."  
  
"You will try," murmured the smaller man, hastily divesting them of their clothes until they pressed together flesh on flesh.  
  
Dagmaer almost hesitated when he felt how small the body underneath him was but Kar'i jerked him down and stared straight into his eyes, his one gold iris captivating.  
  
"I will not break...and if you will not take me like a man, then I shall throw you upon the bed and show you how 'tis done."  
  
The challenge sent heat like a lightning bolt to the Lion Prince's groin and he snarled, sucking on his captured flesh to leave a mark of possession.  This wily sorcerer needed taming and needed never to be touched by another...needed never to be abused again.  He was Dagmaer's to fuck and protect and love.  He thrust roughly against his husband's ass when the boy let out a keening sound, needing him more than he needed air.  Long legs wrapped around his waist like iron bands, holding him tight to the smaller pelvis beneath him and he growled anew.  
  
He thrust again, desperately as he placed kissing nips all along the ruby markings that covered his lover's flesh, "I need you."  
  
Kar'i hissed, voice hitching from another forceful thrust against him, "Shhh...here."    
  
He turned, twisting his spine like a damn snake to rummage in his bedside table, producing a glazed clay pot sealed with wax.  Nimble fingers lifted the seal and a scent of some musky oil filled Dagmaer's nose.  Kar'i set it down on the bed where he could reach and immediately the bigger man immersed two fingers in it, rearing back to look down at his flushing mate and take in the carnal beauty of him.  His breath left him all in a rush.  
  
He would finally conquer the Witch Prince of Svartjord, just not in a way he had ever imagined.  He would burn away ill memories of unwelcome touch.  He would fill Kar'i so full of himself that there would never be room for any other ever again and he would make the mage beg for it.  It would be his choice, something unforced, and that would make victory all the sweeter.  
  
Keeping one hand on the bed, he brought his oiled fingers to the tightly furled muscle of his lover's entrance, stroking it and trying to coax it open.  Kar'i choked and threw his head back, the muscle fluttering with stimulation.  Dagmaer's hand drifted a little higher and he found the same thing he'd encountered the first time he'd rudely touched the sorcerer down here.  It was undamaged now after the mage's healing sleep, slick and hot within like a woman.  To rut within that cavern would be to plant a seed and thoroughly mark Kar'i as his own.  For a moment...just a moment...he was tempted and everything froze.  Kar'i raised his head to look at him and then Dagmaer, realizing the folly of such a notion, only smiled and plunged a finger into his ass to the knuckle.  
  
Kar'i let out a wail at the intrustion and fell back, feeling safe enough to let his guard down and be pleasured.  Dagmaer had respected his desire not to be bred, to treat him as a lover instead of a broodmare.  
  
He squirmed and gasped as the talented finger inside of him pumped in and out, massaging his inner walls and slowly loosening him to accept something altogether larger.  The pace was fast, but attentive...moreso than anyone had ever been with him.  That in itself was erotic and when the second finger breached him and he was forced to clutch Dagmaer's corded shoulders, the other man leaned down to murmur lecherous sweet nothings into his ear.  There was a compliment for each thrust into his body...telling him he was beautiful, that he was doing so well, that he was worthy...  
  
Then the Lion Prince's large fingers struck something inside of him and his splayed legs spasmed, his vision going white, "Gods!"  
  
Dagmaer froze and then grinned down at him, flicking his fingertips again over the sensitive bud, "There?"  
  
The dark-haired sorcerer let out a gasping cry and the Lion Prince's grin grew wilder.  He endeavored to hit that spot again and again until the whole rooms were full of his mate's helpless screams of blind pleasure.  Kar'i tried to close his legs when the stimulation grew to be too overwhelming, tears in his eyes, but the other wouldn't let him, holding him open at the knee with one powerful hand and purring into his ear.  
  
"Let me see you..."  
  
"Please, Dagmaer!" whimpered Kar'i and the other Prince leaned down to suck on his ear.  
  
"Please what?"  
  
Kar'i was shaking, a flush spread across his face and collarbones.  He could not say it.

Dagmaer shoved his fingers against that spot again, biting down on the lobe of Kar'i's ear.

The boy sorcerer's lithe form twisted and the Lion Prince nearly came upon the spot to feel that elegant form so wracked beneath his own.

"Only tell me what you desire and you shall have it," he rumbled.

He saw his lover turn away his face and the roguish look in Dagmaer's eyes softened.  He realized how difficult it was for this was likely the first time Kar'i had ever gone willingly into another's bed.  He knew not how to speak the words of passion and even if he did, past torment and pride would not allow him to speak them.  Not yet.  Taking pity, Dagmaer leaned down to kiss his husband deeply on the mouth, opening him with his tongue and caressing him.  The sorcerer pushed back against him, shaking softly and kissing him for all he was worth in thanks, realizing the boon he had been granted, gripping the other man's shoulders so hard he was sure he would bleed.  The Lion Prince did not care for that, however, as he pulled back and put more oil on his fingers, covering his length.  
  
"Do something for me," he murmured, gaze locked with Kar'i's.  
  
"Anything..." said the younger man, gasping when he felt the head of his husband's penis butting up against his sensitive opening, preparing for the taking.  
  
"Forget anyone who touched you before me," Dagmaer said, breath ghosting over Kari's rosebud lips.  
  
Kar'i paused for only a moment before nodding jerkily.  He keened loudly when his husband mounted him, pushing inside of him slowly so that he could feel every inch that entered him, could feel the heat of Dagmer branding him from the inside out.  Shivers and spasms went down his legs where they gripped tight to the golden warrior's hips until the other man was seated in him to the hilt.  They could only gasp and pant and stare at each other in wonder then.  Kar'i could feel his husband's heartbeat from where they joined and Dagmaer marvelled at how well the smaller man settled into the cup of his pelvis.  
  
Like puzzle pieces slotting together.  
  
Small, pale Kar'i let out tiny whimpers with each exhale, shivering like a newborn foal.  Dagmaer looked down upon him and stroked his short black hair, tugging affectionately on one of his braids until the other looked up at him, pupils blown so that both eyes looked solid black, the gold almost totally gone.  Fates, he was beautiful.  
  
"Are you well?" he whispered down.  
  
His overwrought mate could only nod again and Dagmaer took his first experimental thrust, placing both hands down on either side of the younger prince's head, kissing him passionately.  Kar'i whimpered and his toes curled, opening his mouth willingly and thrusting back, holding himself tight against his husband.  
  
It would have taken a much stronger man than Dagmaer to ignore his instincts after such a positive reaction and he let loose his inner animal, pistoning his hips in and out of his smaller husband.  It was heaven...hot and velvety and his strong little mate wrapped all around him, head thrown back and wailing like a dame.  With that long throat exposed to him, how could he not take the opportunity to worship it with kisses and nips, sucking at his adam's apple and the dip between his blushing collarbones.  Surely the entire Hall could hear their mating, but in that moment he couldn't find it in him to care, caught up in a world where only the two of them existed.    
  
Grinning, he thrust hard enough to hit his mate's prostate, relishing the scream he earned and the raking nails down his back.  Pain and pleasure became one in that instant and it was almost enough to undo him utterly.  
  
For his part, Kar'i had never felt so consumed.  Oh, he had felt full, violated and pinned down before, but nothing like this.  He felt flayed raw with pleasure, utterly exposed to another and uncaring.  The only things that existed in the world were the heat around him, the flesh beneath his hands, his husband's heartbeat in his most intimate places, his voice in his ear and the white-hot electricity every time THAT PLACE was touched.  
  
Distantly, he was aware of animal sounds as he grew closer and closer to cresting a great wave, but knew not that they were his own.    
  
When the ecstasy finally crashed over him, he knew nothing more.  
  
  
  
  
wWw  
  
  
  
  
He came to himself again several minutes later looking up at a very pleased husband propped on one arm.  The big man was overlooking him with the most smug of smiles like a proud jungle cat.  It earned Dagmaer a flat look in return.  
  
"You think you're so clever don't you?"  
  
"Husband mine, not only have I made you beg with your body, I just made you faint from pleasure.  I am the cleverest man alive."  
  
"Hush," Kar'i huffed and pushed the bigger warrior until he was laid out flat on his back and the sorcerer's head was pillowed on his chest.  
  
Dagmaer planted a kiss on his ear, reading between the lines enough to know that, while Kar'i's words were caustic, he wasn't truly vexed.  After all, he was still curling up like a pleased housecat upon his chest, was he not?  
  
"...'Twas a good effort, though."  
  
The Lion Prince looked up to see his little husband smirking at him, still a little hellion after surviving death, destruction and, if he did say so himself, the best fuck of his young life.  His eyes narrowed and he rolled them, pinning the younger prince beneath him and rumbling deep in his chest.  
  
"Perhaps I show you another?"  
  
The sorcerer laughed and pushed at his chest, trying to escape before sending them both tumbling off the bed, howling with mirth.  
  
The single candle blew out with a puff of magic.  
  
Downstairs, a celebration continued, not only for the newly wedded princes, but for the prosperity and peace of two tribes who were, perhaps, not truly so forsaken after all.  
  
The End

 

FURTHER NOTES  
 **Dagmaer** _(dahg-mare)_ \- I quite like Dagmaer as well.  He's a barbarian, but one with a strict moral code.  Ichorre and the Black Wastes in particular are not a forgiving place, so one has to be savage, but he's got honour to offset his brutality.  
 **Kar'i** _(Kahr-ee)_ \- Personally my favourite character.  He was heavily inspired by the younger Loki from the 2011 "Thor" film.  He's spirited with a sharp tongue and he's got wisdome beyond his years due to a rather difficult childhood.  He's one of the most delicate looking of his people, but he's titanium.  You do not fuck with Kar'i.  
 **Eydis** _(Eh-dis)_ \- My second favourite character, to be honest.  She's based off of people like Meryl Streep and Julianne Moore, strong, wise women.  She's the brains of Gronnjord's ruling family, but is a warrior equal to her husband.  He's understandably besotted.  
 **Signy** _(Sihg-nee)_ \- The crippled old King of the Gronnjord, he's got authority in spades.  He doesn't have to raise his voice to get people to listen, but he's also calm enough to take the counsel of his wife and let her guide him.

Ceffylarth - The most hardy beasts of burden in Ichorre.  They resemble something of a mix between a dragon and a horse, their thick hides protecting them from the obsidian fields of the Black Wastes.

Ruthro - Trained carrier-beasts frequently used by the Svartjord, Gronnjord and Vannjord.  They are rather like hares save for a very long tail (for balance), tougher skin.


End file.
